


1 o'clock

by mmmuse



Series: One Night [2]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4849268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Their wedding night had been one of delight and new discovery."  <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4548771">Pride Goeth Before the Fall</a>. Part two of the One Night series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1 o'clock

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I've written this, having all of my previous writings in mind whilst doing so. [Three Weeks](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4665447) sets the stage, and we're at part two of three of our characters' explorations into marital intimacy. 
> 
> Many thanks to those of you who have given me kudos and comments on my previous work as well as part one of this series. Please let me know what you think as I'm always looking for ways to improve. Finally, to my lovely beta, Sherylyn, for her assistance in polishing this up for you!
> 
> It's 1 o'clock in the morning...perhaps a soothing bath is in order?

A log popped in the dying fire of the Nampara master bedchamber. A figure stirred, her eyes opening at the sound before she sighed softly with contentment. Demelza was spooned against her new husband, Ross, the heat from his body warming her back, his arm sheltering her waist. She did find, however that her face and chest, exposed to the cool of the room’s air, were growing cold. The fire’s remaining heat would die if someone didn’t attend to it now. She glanced behind her at Ross’s sleeping face: relaxed, untroubled, and younger than he appeared in wakefulness. She sighed and did her best to slip away without waking him. He mumbled something, a slight furrow marring his brow for a moment before shifting his position and burrowing under the blankets.

Which were suspiciously over on _his_ side of the bed! _He’ll have to learn to share_ , she thought to herself, feeling her brow arch in his direction. _We’ll have to see about that in future._ She sat on the edge of the bed, rolling the muscles in her shoulders and neck to ease some of the kinks that had formed and rose. She reached down for her shift, pulling it over her head to give her some protection from the chill and padded over to the fire.

Stirring the embers, she added a couple of additional logs to the hearth and stretched, turning once then twice at the waist to work some of the discomfort from her lower back. By the time she’d finished, the log had caught flame with the promise of more heat to come. She tiptoed over to the decanter containing the brandy and poured herself a small glass before returning to the fire, grabbing an extra blanket from the foot of the bed. She wrapped herself within its folds and sank onto the hearthrug with a stifled, moaning sigh.

She tingled with warmth and satisfaction from memories of the day’s events: the wedding, and how nervous she’d been. That she’d discovered his middle name was Vennor. _Wherever did_ that _come from?_ she wondered. She would need to ask him soon. The ride home and the kiss in the wagon had turned her bones to jelly with its passion and promise. She thought over the way he’d looked at her when she’d begun to undress, the feel of his fingers attacking the laces of her corset, which were in stark contrast with the hesitancy of his touch on her laces their first night together, when it seemed like he’d almost been afraid to believe she was there, with him. When she’d touched his length through the velvet of his breeches, she hadn’t known how similar the flesh of it would feel against her hand. The feel of his hands on her skin and the way it made her feel flushed and needy. And then when he’d finally made her his, the way his eyes looked – near black and riveting in their intensity; the way he felt when he was inside her – solid, weighty, searing with its heat and mass. And her own body’s response to had been a marvel, one she’d craved since that night three weeks before.

She remembered weeping the first night they’d been together, wishing she’d had the words to describe the experience. Tonight, the same was true: she’d wept, once again, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations, and they hadn’t abated in the nearly twelve hours they’d been together since their wedding.

Less than twelve hours later, they’d made love four times. She’d had no idea it was possible to lay with a lover so often in such a relatively short period of time. Not that she was complaining, of course. They’d enjoyed the freedoms their changed relationship had granted them to the fullest until overcome by the need for nourishment and rest. They’d shared the meal Ross had brought up from the larder, eating with their fingers, quietly talking of some of the thoughts that had crept through their minds on their way to the church and afterwards. Sometimes, she would notice him looking at her, as if he were weighing or measuring a thought, and would make her feel a bit self-conscious. Then, just as suddenly, his face would brighten with laughter and her concerns would slide away into nothingness. Finally, after the last of the food had been consumed, they’d nestled into the bedclothes and succumbed to the sleepiness their full stomachs had brought.

She prodded at the fire again with the poker, watching the cinders fly up the flue. She wondered what else there was to learn and found she was more than eager to begin her instruction. Of particular interest were some of the words she’d heard Ross say while they were making love. Based on the context during which they were uttered – she barely repressed a moan when replaying them in her head – she’d figured out what they referred to, but wondered if they were the sort of thing one should ever mention outside the sanctity of the bedchamber. She highly suspected not. Regardless of the where or how of it, his words had made her feel breathless and shivering with need.

She was also very interested in understanding more about what happened to him when he reached satisfaction, physically. Oh yes, she’d shared in the experience with him several times by now, had seen the expression on his face when it had occurred: joy, rapture, pleasure bordering just on this side of pain, and had known all must have been reflected on her own as well. _But_ , she thought shyly to herself, _what truly happened within him?_ She knew only what happened within her own body: pulsating, dizzying need, feeling the blood rush to the surface of her skin and into her groin. The wetness… After their first time together, she’d lain awake, remembering the words he’d spoken after touching her for the first time: “You’re… ready for me.” He hadn’t sounded disgusted about it. Quite the opposite: he’d shuddered when he’d realized it, had barely been able to stop himself from pressing her into the mattress. Did the same thing happen to him?

She stretched her hands out in front of her, and warmed them in the glow of the fire. The thoughts swimming through her mind set off a thrum in her veins. Yet, despite the warmth the memories stirred, she still found herself chilled. _Maybe I would feel better if I had a dish of tea while I sit by the fire?_ she thought to herself. _It’d warm me from the inside while the fire did so from without._

Decision made, she rose from her seat and winced. The stiffness along her thighs and back was more severe than when she’d originally sat down in front of the fire. That, in addition to the tenderness of her inner thighs and womanhood, made her realize she was more uncomfortable that she’d initially thought upon rising. _Perhaps a bath would help,_ she thought. It would soothe the stiffness, relieve the rawness, and – her nose wrinkled – the none-too-pleasant scent that emanated from her body. She took one last look at Ross before lighting a taper and quitting the room.

The kitchen was dark save the light from the three-quarter moon and the smouldering embers in the hearth. Shivering, she lit several candles before dashing to the hearth to stir up the coals, then added kindling and wood. She’d stopped by her old room to get her work shoes because she’d known she’d have to go out to the pump for water. She slipped on her cloak, picked up the pail and walked out to the yard.

She managed not to spill too much water on her way back in (although one of her shoes caught the brunt of one notable slosh) and poured a good portion into the two kettles. She hung up her cloak, took off her shoes and placed them by the fire. She then set the kettles to boil. Content with her handiwork, she walked over to the larder and picked out a few things to nibble on whilst waiting for the pot. Twenty minutes later, the water was warm enough to use for her bath. She added most of the hot water from the first kettle to the cold already inside the large washbasin she’d set in front of the fire, pouring the rest into an earthenware pitcher to use as rinse water.

She removed her stockings, casting a concerned eye over the feet of them and wondering if they’d ever be clean again. She _hoped_ they would, considering how much Ross had liked them. Her cheeks warmed with the recollection. A soak in some water would help, so she made a note to do just that before she went back upstairs.

She stepped into the basin and slipped her shift over her head. Bending to soak the flannel, she washed her face and neck, dipped it in once again and ran it over her shoulders, arms, chest and breasts. The heat turned her skin a rosy pink with each pass of the cloth. She sang wordlessly to herself, from the tune she’d hummed as she’d walked down the aisle that afternoon as the heat from the water warmed her skin and soothed her stiff muscles. She ran the flannel along her legs before slowly sinking down into the basin.

“Judas,” she hissed with pleasure, biting her bottom lip as the heat from the water eased in between her legs, soothing her tender flesh. She used her hands to wash, fearing the flannel would be too rough on the oversensitive skin. There was a shimmer of desire mingled with the task of bathing herself, whatever discomfort she may have experienced with the utility notwithstanding. She felt as though she could have stayed in there the rest of the night, truth be told, but the water was losing its heat.

She reluctantly stood and reached for the pitcher, pouring the water to rinse off her upper body before using the last to rinse her pubis and sex. She set the pitcher down on the table and paused before reaching for the bath linen. Curious, her fingers slipped between the folds of her sex. The little bud of oversensitive flesh hardened against her fingers and she felt a discernible slickness of the skin within. It was different from water, hot, slick and becoming more plentiful as she moved. She stifled a moan from escaping her lips as the middle finger of her right hand circled the bud with increasing pressure and speed. Her left hand trailed up her body to cup her breast, her nipple peaking under her touch. This time, the moan passed unchecked and she bit down, hard, onto her lower lip.

“Hello, wife.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross yawned hugely, squinting against the brightness of the fire’s light in the darkened room. He looked at the empty pillow next to his and wondered where Demelza had gone. At that moment, he heard her voice, soft and melodic, rising up through the quiet house from the kitchen. He glanced at the side table and found the empty plate from downstairs. His stomach growled again and he shook his head ruefully. _Well, it’s not as if I haven’t been exerting myself_ , he thought to himself with a soft chuckle. He stretched luxuriantly before throwing the bedclothes off his body and rose, naked, from the bed. He picked up the empty plate and padded around to the other side of the bed, where he remembered removing his breeches…how many hours ago? He looked around the room for his waistcoat to retrieve his pocket watch, only then remembering it was still out in the barn, along with his coat. He made a mental note to retrieve it before the Paynters returned to Nampara in the morning. No sense giving them anything to work with.

He plucked up the breeches and pulled them on, loosely buttoning them to his hips, picked up the plate and one taper, then headed out of the room. He made the turn in the staircase, doing his best to avoid the creaking wood on the third step, and when he raised his eyes, he found a vision in front of him. Demelza stood silhouetted in the kitchen firelight, naked, her skin glistening from the water of her bath. Her skin was a lovely, gilded rose; her hair a tumbled riot around her shoulders, with damp, red-golden tendrils spiralling around to frame her face. Botticelli’s _Birth of Venus_ , realized in the home of an impoverish country squire on the wind-swept Cornish moors.

 _Demelza the seductress_ , he mused to himself, the dichotomy re-forming in his mind. Only hours ago, he’d sleepily watched her after she’d drifted into slumber following their picnic-in-bed, and had found himself puzzling over the two images he’d had of her, ever since their first night together over three weeks before. As they’d shared their meal, he’d caught glimpses of the friend he’d companionably talked with over similar meals intertwined with the seductress who’d invaded his thoughts and desires. For nearly twelve hours, she’d been everything a man could have dreamed of having in his bed: filled with boundless curiosity, unabashedly responsive, impulsive, bold, passionate, willing to please and surrender to his needs. And he still struggled. Could he reconcile the two halves into a whole? Would he be able to find the balance?

Lost in his thoughts, he’d nearly continued his descent to the bottom of the stairs when he stopped cold, his eyes refocusing on her form: her fingers had slid in between her legs and she was stroking herself. Ross felt his cock – semi-erect from the moment he’d seen her at her bath – become painfully hard within the confines of his breeches. His own breathing deepened with his arousal. _I haven’t been this randy since I was in school,_ he thought to himself, pressing the palm of his right hand hard against his groin. It was when she raised her right hand to fondle her breast and she bit her bottom lip that he felt desperation claw at his throat.

“Hello, wife,” he said, amazed that he’d managed to sound calm when his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. Her eyes, impassioned and slightly unfocused, flew open and caught his. He smiled and tipped the empty plate in her direction. “Are you all right, my dear?” he asked, feeling the brow over his left eye arch while the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

“Y-yes, R-R-oss,” she stammered prettily, saying his name in the way he’d come to crave. Her cheeks were flaming with colour. “I’d thought to brew a dish of tea and wanted a quick bath as well,” she all but whispered, her voice husky.

She hadn’t moved her hands. While seeing her fingers toying amidst the damp curls of her sex was stimulating to the extreme, the hand on her breast was of particular delight of its own. He was quite pleased by this. No shame between them.

“That sounds delightful,” he murmured. He walked across the room towards her, setting the plate down on the table and picking up the bath linen. “However, it appears you’ve finished with the wash and are engaged in something else.” He held out his towel-wrapped hands. “May I be of assistance?”

The blush increased in its intensity. It was at this point she moved her hands to shield the russet curls at the tops of her thighs, a move more defensive than protective. “Thank you, Ross,” she said shyly, reaching for the towel, which he held just outside her reach. “As much as I may want to, I don’t think I can… just yet.”

His brows furrowed. “You can’t _what_ , Demelza?”

She looked at him, blinking, before she shifted her gaze downwards from his face to his groin. The breeches rode quite low on his hips and the tip of his cock had edged its way above the loose front flap. “I’m a little tender, Ross,” she said, raising her eyes to his. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her words cut through him like a knife.

Of course: four times in less than twelve hours was more than any man could have asked for from his wedding night. He cursed under his breath. “My dear, I’m very sorry,” he said, and looking with compassion into her eyes. “Do not trouble yourself, Demelza.”

“But…but,” she looked down at his cock once again, which did anything but help. As if summoned (and, in truth, hadn’t it been?), it twitched.

He felt colour ride along the edge of his cheekbones. He closed the distance between them and placed his towel-wrapped hands on her shoulders. “My dear, we don’t need to worry about that right now,” he said, doing his best to smile. “Let me dry your back.”

At her nod, he held out his hand to help her step out of the basin. He turned her to face away from him, gently patting and smoothing the bath linen down along her back and lower spine. He remembered the night he’d undressed her for the first time, barely able to see the line of her back in the gloom of his bedchamber, and was grateful for the fire’s glow this night. He continued along the curve of her waist – marvelling at how it nipped in to such a narrow width he could span it with his hands – before moving to the fullness of her hips. His hands involuntarily flexed upon her buttocks before he drew her close, pressing kisses all along the graceful curve of her neck and shoulder before moving lower, then lower still, until he was on his knees, nuzzling her waist and lower back with the tip of his nose and lips before rising once more. “Demelza,” he breathed, his hands reaching around her to caress her breasts. “So very lovely, my dear.”

“Ross,” she sighed. She shivered against him, and he remembered – she was still damp from her bath!

“Forgive me,” he said, turning her back around to face him, pressing a gentle kiss on her lips. He looked into her eyes, which had darkened to near black. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in small, panting sighs. “Now your front.” He dabbed at the skin of her neck with the linen, before letting it drop to the bench. His arms came around her waist and he pulled her against him for a deep, ravenous kiss. She moaned against his mouth and their tongues battled. He tore his mouth from hers to lower it along her throat to her collarbone, which he nipped and soothed in turns. His hands clenched against her buttocks, pulling her against his hips. They ground against one another. Ross’s mouth moved back to her ear. “I’ll not take you again, Demelza, for I don’t wish to hurt you. I do want you, however. Can you feel me? Feel how much I want you?” She nodded, soft gasps of need coming from her throat.

He stepped away from her for a moment, picking up the bath linen and spreading part of it across the kitchen table. He moved in front of her once again and, with his hands on her shoulders, urged her back until she was sitting on the table’s edge. He rained kisses and caresses down her neck to her breasts, brushing her nipples with the edge of the linen, watching them rise in response to the rough texture of the cloth. He then bathed them with his tongue, soothing her before nipping gently… and not so gently. He felt her fingers run pathways along his scalp, tugging at the strands of his long, black hair and making the fine down along the back of his neck stand on end. His hands moving slowly down her waist to her hips, which he pressed firmly against the table.

He stepped closer, nudging her legs apart with his body. He then knelt in front of her, looking up into her face, overcome with desire, before leaning forward to press a kiss against the russet curls. “Do you like that, my dear?” he murmured, his eyes locked with hers. “Like it when I kiss you here? When I taste you?” His hands pressed on the inside of her thighs, nudging them farther apart. “Do you want me to do that again?” he all but crooned words of heat and desire.

“Yes,” she breathed, barely audible, breathy and needy with want. “Yes…please, Ross… kiss me there.”

He felt a shiver course through his entire body at her request. He pressed her down, until her back was against the kitchen table and raised her legs to rest on either side of his neck and across his broad shoulders. The fragrance of her body was intoxicating, and drew him in. His tongue slipped between the lips of her sex to taste her more fully. Salt, exotic spices made his mind swim with yearning. He lost himself in her, until his lips, teeth and tongue were fully engaged in pleasing her, bringing her to climax. He was vaguely aware of her cries of ecstasy, his own gratification at possessing her this way superseding his senses. He was nearly mindless in his desire, his hands stroking her waist, her breasts while his tongue focused on the small bud at her centre. His right hand left her body to fumble into the loosened front of his breeches, grasping his cock to satisfy its need for physical contact. Suddenly, her body arched off the table top, gasping and quaking as she came. He stayed with her, stroking her gently while the waves subsided, revelling in the pleasure she’d received all the while reeling with how close he himself had reaching his climax.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her right thigh, working his way up her body until she leaned up from the table and into his arms for a kiss of extraordinary tenderness and intimacy. He shuddered, clasping his arms around her waist as her legs wrapped around his.

He broke their kiss, leaning back at the waist to look at her, smiling into her punch-drunk eyes. “How was that, my dear?” he said, kissing the tip of her nose.

She blushed. “Wonderful, Ross,” she sighed, gripping him with her thighs. He thrust his hips against her involuntarily. His cock felt like it was about to burst and he couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped his lips. The two buttons at the top of his breeches were all that kept him from surging into her moist heat. That, and the promise he’d made to her. “But Ross, you’re stil—”

“—Don’t worry about that right now,” he interrupted gently before summoning every ounce of restraint he had and stepping away from her. “The fact of the matter is I’ve a mind for a bath of my own. Is there any water left?” At her nod, he grinned wolfishly. “Can you help me?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza found herself somewhat unsteady on her feet as she looked up into Ross’s eyes, eyes lit with mischief and desire that spurred her own. She nodded at his request. “Can you empty the basin for me while I get the kettle, Ross?” The reediness of her voice made her blink.

He chuckled. “I can indeed,” he said, the sparkle in his eyes gleaming brightly. “Do we need anything else?”

“Y-yes, some more cold water,” she said, giving her head a small shake to clear the dreamy buzzing that had settled in her ears. Where was her brain? “I’ll get that, Ross; I’ve my shoes down here.” She tied the bath linen around her body and reached for her cloak, slipping it over her shoulders. She sat on the bench to put them on and picked up the pitcher, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he added more fuel to the fire. He then bent to lift the heavy basin with what appeared to be very little effort. She rose quickly and scurried over to the door to hold it open for him.

The coolness of the night air was just what she needed to clear her head from what had just occurred. Even before their relationship had changed, Demelza had known Ross to be a man of deep passions and emotions. While she didn’t think he’d be the type to force himself on a woman, it was her understanding that she was to obey him, as his wife, in all things, including their intimacies. His understanding of her current circumstances, the tenderness shown, and the personal satisfaction he’d sacrificed for her own had stunned her. She’d already learned so much about him over the three weeks, and she wondered how much more there was to discover about this man who was now her husband. She smiled to herself, and then set off across the yard to the pump.

As she primed the pump, she found she had to pause to admire the beauty of the night. The moon was making its way across a clear night’s sky through a festival of stars. The silhouette of the cottage and outbuildings were black against the midnight blue of the heavens. The quiet lowing of animals in the barn added their tones to that of the breeze, fresh in her lungs. All of this was hers now, she thought to herself, remembering her thoughts from earlier in the day. She’d always thought of Nampara as her home, ever since Ross had brought her here after the Redruth fair, but now it truly was that for her. Would be for her children and _their_ children. Tremendously moved by her thoughts, she continued her task and filled the pitcher.

The fire in the hearth had warmed the room considerably by the time she’d returned to the house. Ross had poured some of the hot water into the newly emptied basin and held out his hand for the pitcher. She handed it to him quickly and turned to hang up her cloak, taking a moment to dry her eyes. When she turned, she found him unmoving, the pitcher still in his hand, watching her.

“Demelza, what’s the matter?” he asked, setting the pitcher down and crossing the room to place his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve been crying. What’s happened?”

“’Tis nothin’, Ross,” she said, patting her cheeks with her hands. “Just thinking about Nampara.”

He smiled. “It is yours as much as it is mine now,” he said softly. “I hope to have many years of peace and contentment here with you.”

She smiled timorously up at him. “And I with you, Ross.”

He kissed her cheek. “You’re chilled from being outside, and it’s no wonder, what with you only clothed in a damp bath linen,” he admonished, and rubbed her upper arms. He slid his right arm around her shoulders and led them both back to the fire. “Sit by the fire for a moment while I finish preparing the basin.”

She sat down on the bench seat and slipped her shoes off her feet, holding up her hands in front of the fire. She watched as he took the pitcher and poured the full contents into the steaming basin before bending to test the temperature. He flicked a glance in her direction before placing the pitcher into the basin and drew a quantity back into it for rinsing before turning to face her. He was starkly silhouetted against the fire, the wild curls of his hair thick and full around his face, the shadows playing off the crest of his shoulders and outer arms. He was, indeed, a sight to behold.

He held a hand out to her. “Will you still help me with my bath, my dear?” His face was in full shadow, but she could hear the smile in the deep timbre of his voice.

She rose and nodded, taking his hand. He turned, the light of the fire bringing the planes of his face, chest and arms into gilded relief.

He looked into her eyes. “I’ll need a bath linen, Demelza.”

She blinked. “Of course, Ross.” She made to release his hand but found he would not let go. “I need to go get you one.”

He shook his head. “The one you’re wearing will do just fine.”

She blinked again. “But Ross, this one’s damp and used.”

“It will do just fine,” he repeated, releasing her hand and, with its opposite, proceeded to untie the knot holding it around her. It slid from her body, the fabric gliding over her naked skin, making the fine hairs on her arms stand, her nipples harden.

He set the linen aside on the bench and sat on the edge of the table. His eyes travelled the length of her body, admiring her as she’d discovered he liked to do. She licked her lips and flicked her eyes down towards his hips. That tantalizing trail of black hair leading from his chest and stomach, disappearing into breeches that sat very low across his narrow hips. She took a step towards him and looked up at his face. His eyes had been fixed on her breasts before rising to meet hers without blinking, dark forest green through thick, black lashes. She loved his eyes very much.

“Shall I help you with the buttons, Ross?” she asked, her voice husky with what she now recognized as desire.

He nodded, his fingers running along the curve of her collarbones before dropping them to the table, pressing himself up to a standing position. She raised her hands to his waist, looking down as the backs of her fingers brushed the skin just above the loosened flap of his breeches. The muscles twitched under her fingers, the head of his cock rising above the edge of the garment once again. First one button, then another, before the garment slipped lower still. She stepped closer, easing her hands around the upper edge of the breeches where they rested on the crest of his buttocks. She slipped them down and over their muscular curves until they pooled at his feet. Another step forward and she pressed her naked body against his, wrapped her arms around his waist, and rose up on tiptoe to kiss him. His hands left the table to hold her shoulders as he deepened the kiss, turning it luxuriant and sweeping.

She let out a shuddering sigh against his mouth in response, feeling the heat of his erect cock pressing against her sex and would have happily forgotten about any discomfort she might experience to have him within her once again. But Ross broke their kiss, pressing her back from him and smiled into her eyes. “My bath, Demelza? Where is the flannel?”

She stepped back and looked around for the scrap of material, noticing it sitting on the bench nearest his right knee. She bent to pick it up while he shifted the basin closer to the end of the table, within arm’s reach. She pivoted, dunking the flannel into the warm water and wringing out some of the excess before rising to stand in front of him. His cock grew harder, heavier, rising and falling with his pulse. He held out his hand. “Don’t worry about it, my dear. Hand the flannel to me.”

She handed it to him and watched as he passed it along us upper body, the water beading on the skin and black hair of his chest, arms and stomach. The beads trickled down, following the trail of hair to catch in the thatch surrounding his length. She swallowed hard.

“Can you wash my back for me, Demelza?” he asked, holding the flannel out to her and turning away with a smile.

“Y-yes, Ross,” she said, taking the cloth and dipping it into the water once more. She raised it to the crest of his shoulders and squeezed until the water flowed over his back and down to his buttocks. She smiled at a memory. “I should like to go swimming with you one day, Ross.”

He turned his head and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Swimming? What brought that to mind?”

She blushed. “I saw you once,” she admitted. At this he turned to face her, the warmth of amusement lightening his eyes and features. “You were swimming in the cove one morning, when you were coming back from a trip to town.” She noticed a flicker of shadow marring his brow, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. He brought his hand up to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“So you were spying on me, Demelza?” he said with a laugh in his voice. “Tell me: did you fancy what you saw?”

She nodded, and she felt her cheeks flame until she caught the look of smug gratification in his eyes and on his face. She laughed brightly and pushed at his shoulder until she faced his back once more. His shoulders shook with mirth and she lightly slapped at them. She moistened the flannel again and squeezed the water across his shoulders once more. A log popped and the fire brightened the room. The change in the quality of light made her see the scratches she’d made earlier across his back. They were more noticeable than she’d thought they would be. She was thankful she hadn’t broken the skin – he had a lovely back – but could not have been more pleased to know he’d carry them for at least a day or two. “You won’t be able to work shirtless for a day or two, Ross,” she said throatily, running her hand along them. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing to trouble yourself over, Demelza,” he said. He gave a small groan and shiver of pleasure as she passed the flannel over the scratches and down towards his lower back. She raised it along his sides to sweep under his arms, which he held up and out of her way, by linking the fingers of both hands behind his neck while she worked. This posture emphasized the strength of his arms and the span of his back, the beauty of which couldn’t help but to appreciate. She was a very lucky woman.

She touched his right bicep when she was finished. “You can lower your arms now, Ross.” He did so as she bent to dampen the flannel once again, rising to run it along his lower back, buttocks and legs. She hadn’t had a chance to fully appreciate the strength of his legs, lean and muscular from years in the saddle. She knelt, her hands running along his thighs and calves, and she felt the muscles quiver under her touch.

After she finished running the cloth over the flesh of his buttocks, she sat back on her heels. She wondered if he knew what she was planning to do. “Can you turn for me, Ross?” she asked, nerves turning the edge of her voice reedy.

He nodded and turned to face her. She stared avidly at his cock, now fully erect, lying flat against his lower belly. The vein that ran along the underside of his length pulsed heavily in response, the heavy sac of his bollocks underneath pulled tight against his body. A glistening pearl of liquid had pooled in the indentation at the tip of his cock. A second droplet joined the first as she watched. Impulsively, she touched it with her index finger, raised it to her lips and into her mouth. The taste was bitter on her tongue, but not unpleasant. She raised her eyes to meet his, only to find them staring hungrily at her mouth. She removed her finger and bit her lower lip as he raised his eyes to hers. They blazed with desire and he breathed heavily through his mouth.

“Demelza, you don’t have to do this,” he said, confirming her suspicions, and it sent a surge of heat straight through her groin. His hands were fisted, trembling against his upper thighs.

“I want to, Ross,” she said, more calmly than she’d imagined she would have been capable of in that moment. She reached into the basin to remoisten the flannel one last time, before raising it to his flesh.

He jerked when her hand came in contact with him and he leaned back against the table. His hands moved from his thighs to grip the edge of the table with enough strength to make the wood creak under the strain. She squeezed the cloth, sending rivulets of water cascading down his groin and legs before using the cloth over his skin. His hips moved involuntarily against her hands. She glanced up at him to find his eyes closed, gentle moans coming up from his throat as she stroked his length.

She tossed the flannel into the basin. His eyes opened at the sound of the splash. She met his eyes, fervent with need, then leaned forward and kissed the underside of his cock.

“Jesus,” Ross exclaimed. He shook, the hands on the table gripping harder.

The heat was always what struck her first: scorching in comparison to the rest of his skin. And the softness of the skin in contrast to the hard strength it contained within. She teased the head of his cock with kisses and her tongue before drawing it further into her mouth. His hips began to thrust against her, pushing his cock further into her mouth. He had more purchase than he’d had earlier in the evening when she’d first explored his body, since he’d been lying flat on his back on the bed. She was a little frightened at first, feeling as though she’d underestimated what would be required in pleasuring him so now.

As if sensing her restraint, Ross eased back away from her. “Let me...” he gasped. He shifted them over to the bench seat and sat down, bringing Demelza to stand between his knees. He folded the bath linen and placed it on the floor in front of him and drew her down onto her knees between his thighs. “This way, you control how much you wish to do, more than if I were standing.” He stroked her cheek. “I fear that would be too much for you.”

“Thank you, Ross,” she said, her voice breathy with want. She sensed he was about to try to talk her out of what she intended. She pressed her hand against the one he held against her cheek and looked into his eyes. “I want this. I want to know.” At his silent nod she pressed him back until he leaned against the table, settled in between his thighs, and lowered her head to his lap.

She understood what he was talking about at once. She could take as much or as little of him into her mouth as she wished, the motion of his hips more restricted than before. She moved her head up and down, relishing the feel of him against her tongue, the way his cock twitched and bucked against her mouth and the sounds of pleasure that rose from his lips with each stroke. She used the palm of her left hand to cup his bollocks, feeling the ridges in its skin contract against her touch, the softness of the black hair lightly tickling as she stroked them. She moved her mouth from his cock to run her tongue along the ridge that created a slight valley between the two globes within, before drawing each lightly into her mouth.

He shuddered violently at this, a gasp hurtling from his throat. She drew back at once, looking up, but found his eyes to be closed tight. “Did I hurt you?” she asked, concerned.

“N-no! No,” he gasped. His eyes opened, gazing down on her transfixed on her mouth. “It’s good…so good.” His hands reached for either side of her head and drew her back down. Smiling, she resumed her explorations.

She would glance up from time to time, finding the expressions of ecstasy and pleasure chasing across his face mesmerizing. At times, his eyes remained tightly closed, his lips pressed against each other, his breathing harsh through his nostrils. At other times, his eyes were open, hot and opaque, transfixed on the sight of her mouth on him. He muttered words, disjointed and often nonsensical to her hearing, but the depth of feeling they evoked was clear and unmistakable: need, desire, pleading.

She lightly scraped the edge of her teeth along him and he cried out. “Demelza, I’ll not last long,” he rasped, trying to pull her away from him.

She lifted her mouth from him only long enough to press kisses near the root of his cock, nuzzling the tip of her nose against his bollocks. “I’ll not stop, Ross,” she said. He groaned and she took him back into her mouth. She clasped her arms around his outer thighs, resting her hands on his sharp hipbones as she took him deeper and deeper. His movements, his utterances became more frantic and urgent. She noticed the pulse along the vein of his cock beating faster against her tongue, tasted the tang of the liquid she’d sampled earlier and wondered if it signalled the end for him.

“Demelza, I’m going to—” he warned, his hands coming off the bench to clutch at her hair. She looked up at him, tightening her grip on his thighs and hips. His eyes, black and depthless, connected with hers for a split second. “Demelza!” he cried out before going unnaturally still. One beat, another, and then his body shuddered against hers. Her mouth was filled with hot fluid, slightly bitter as before, grassier – not unlike the pollen from some of her favourite flowers – and abundant, still far from unpleasant to her. His fingers clenched within her hair and held her head still to receive it. She felt the pulse of his climax against her tongue, heard his gasps and shouts of ecstasy, and felt him tremble in her arms. She swallowed once, then again, before looking up the length of his torso to see his face, loose and satiated, and was undone with a sense of pride, power and satisfaction for pleasing him this way.

Heat had pooled heavily between her legs and she felt as though she was inches away from her own climax. She quaked with need but held him gently in her mouth until he’d softened. She felt his hands tugging at her hair. She released him as Ross’s hands cupped her cheeks and raised her face to his. He kissed her desperately, his tongue sweeping her mouth to tangle passionately with hers. His hands left her face and he wrapped his arms tight around her and brought them both to their feet.

His mouth left hers to press kisses along her cheek until he reached her ear. “Demelza,” he said with tremor that shook his frame. “Never… never have I…”

She leaned back, gazing up into his face. “I pleased you, then?” she asked, shyly and hopeful.

He trembled once again. “Beyond…” he said, simply. He pulled her back into his embrace and kissed her again, and she understood. Understood that by focusing on his needs, she had fulfilled desires she hadn’t even realized she’d had within her. He shifted his mouth away from hers, once more seeking her ear. “I could taste myself in your mouth,” he said darkly, and it made the blood rush through her veins, set off the pulse in her centre once again. “It was...” He paused and kissed her once more. She found she didn’t need the words. She could feel it. She knew it.

They stood for some time, wrapped within one another’s arms, until she shivered. He rubbed her arms. “Are you cold, my dear?”

She was, a little, but thought it had more to do with what had transpired between them than the chill in the air. She nodded. “I never did make my tea,” she sighed, “and we’ve used up all the hot water.”

He laughed aloud and kissed the tip of her nose. “We should go upstairs. I promise to keep you warm.” He glanced around the room as she picked up more candles to take with them. “I’ll have images of what’s happened this night crossing my mind whenever I see you in here.” She watched a wolfish grin appear on his face. “How will I keep my hands off you when I see you kneading dough for our bread again?”

She arched a brow and felt an impish smile tease the dimples in her cheeks. “Well, Master Poldark, you _did_ say you would have me wherever you wanted me.”

He chuckled. “That I did. I’d say we did it well. It is a risk I am willing to bear.” He drew her against him and pressed a kiss to her lips. She slipped her arms around his waist and deepened the kiss until they were both slightly breathless. She shivered once again, knowing full well it had nothing to do with the cold.

He released her and gave her a light swat on the rump. She squeaked and danced around the table. She paused by the empty plate. “Shall I fill it again, sir?”

He arched a brow. “You already did, madam.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know [the moon phase](http://www.moonpage.com/index.html</a>%20target=) for Monday, 25 June 1787 01:19:17 in the morning the waxing moon's phase was 74.27% full? Or, to be more precise, 74.2737428558775% full? Research! Achievement unlocked! :-) Yes... I'm a bit of a geek.


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